by Joanna Shupe
A buzzing started in her ears, disbelief echoing through her limbs. Had he just said . . . ? “You love me?”
He laughed, a bitter, ugly sound wrenched from the depths of his chest. “I gave you my club, Florence. I would give you everything I own, the clothes off my back, if it would make you come back to me.”
“You love me.”
Expression darkening, he put his hands on his hips. “I thought we covered this. Yes.”
“I needed to be certain I heard you correctly. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Would it have mattered?”
“Of course. I never knew how you felt about me, about us. I never considered this could be something more, that we could have true feelings for one another.”
“Which I ruined by acquiring your grandmother’s home.”
“Acquiring,” she drawled. “What a polite word for what happened. I think you mean stealing.”
“Fine, stealing. I did apologize for that, by the way. Both to her and to you.” He paused and studied her face. “You have her eyes.”
Her eyes? “You met my grandmother? When?”
“She didn’t tell you? It was before I came to see you and your father. She asked for a meeting and I obliged her.” The edges of his mouth turned up slightly. “I thought it was so she could beg me not to take her home. But it wasn’t that at all. She wanted to discuss you.”
“Me?” Why hadn’t Granny or her father informed her of this? “What about me?”
“She asked how I felt about you and how I planned to win you back.”
Florence lowered herself into a cloth-covered armchair. Good Lord, this was astounding. How had Granny learned of a romantic attachment between Florence and Clay? Florence hadn’t mentioned anything, other than Clay mentoring her at the casino. Smart old bird. Somehow her grandmother had figured it out.
She stared at Clay, still trying to wrap her head around the idea of him meeting with her grandmother. “What did you tell her?”
“That you hated me and you’d never forgive me. Both of which turned out to be true, incidentally.”
Did she hate him? While that may have been the case hours ago, she couldn’t definitively say as much any longer. She was frustrated and angry, yes. But there were many other emotions within, as well, powerful feelings she could not articulate.
He loved her.
This strong, intelligent man loved her. Deep in her bones she sensed the truth of it. He never pressured her to act the demure and proper lady. He had accepted her exactly as she was, flaws and all. Had supported her and protected her.
And when they were alone, the nymph was playful and wicked, the spark of joy his lonely life had been missing.
He’d been her spark of joy, as well. She’d been in love with him for weeks, probably since the night in the brothel.
Nevertheless, how could they possibly move forward?
Instead of worrying on that, she pushed for more answers. “Is that why you returned her house, because you met her and felt guilty?”
“No.” He leaned on a chair back, his huge shoulders bunching and appearing even larger. “I realized that I had everything I’d ever wanted, had achieved all I craved as a boy, yet, I was miserable. I didn’t have you. Trading our potential future for my past was the biggest mistake of my life.”
“Do you mean that?”
“Absolutely. You were all I needed, my perfect other half, but I was too stupid, too selfish, to realize it.”
Emotion bloomed in her chest, rising, stretching, until a knot formed in her throat. His honesty certainly packed a punch. She sucked in a ragged breath. “Were?”
“Are. Now and always, Florence. No other woman brought me such happiness or understood me as you did. You didn’t seem to mind my black heart or jagged scars.” He shoved his fingers into his hair and pulled roughly on the disheveled strands. “Christ, without you, it’s as if the whole world has gone dark. I can’t breathe without missing you.”
“Yet you’re ready to give up. Move away.”
“You can do better than me. Hell, you should do better than me. Your family will never accept me. Society will never accept me. A future together means turning your back on everything you know. I cannot do that to you.”
“I am capable of making my own choices, Clay. Do not turn into my father and start dictating how my life will unfold.”
He sighed heavily and shook his head once. “You’re right. I apologize. I’ve told you how I feel. Now it’s your turn. What do you want, Florence?”
What did she want? Other than focusing on the casino, she hadn’t ceased being angry and hurt long enough to think about it. But she knew she couldn’t undo the past, and she believed in looking ahead, not behind.
Are you ready to live the rest of your life without him?
Justine’s words came back to her and the answer was there, as plain as day. No, she wasn’t. But forgiving him was a huge leap of faith, a bet that she might end up losing. He might hurt her once more.
Then again, she might hurt him. There were no guarantees in games of chance or in matters of the heart. Everything was a gamble.
Still, the words to forgive him wouldn’t come. In the past she’d made decisions quickly, decisively. From her gut and without a care for anyone else’s feelings.
And that had nearly destroyed her family.
To move forward, she had to learn patience, to curb her impulsive nature. Think matters through carefully before leaping. She had to act differently this time.
Yes, Clay had given her his club and returned Granny’s deed. But he’d been ready to move away, to leave the city. Leave her. She had to believe in her heart that he would be willing to do anything, scale any heights, to win her back. She needed action, not promises.
Her earlier conversation gave her an idea. It was terrible, really. Everything Clay hated.
Which made it absolutely perfect.
Exhaling, she met his steady gaze with her own. “I’ve always enjoyed taking a risk.”
He swallowed hard, the column of his throat working. Hope lit the dark depths of his gaze for the first time since she walked in. “Is that so?”
“Yes, but you’ll need to prove you mean what you say.”
“I have never lied to you.”
“Semantics and you know it.”
“What would you have me do, then?”
She lifted her chin. “Just be ready. I’ll cable you instructions tomorrow.”
From atop a great brown stallion, Clay glanced at his bright green riding coat and muttered, “I feel fucking ridiculous.”
“I cannot see how you are complaining,” Florence’s father snapped. “You have the bigger horse.”
It turned out that Florence Greene had a wicked sense of humor. Or, she merely enjoyed torturing Clay. To prove his devotion to her, he had been ordered to join Duncan Greene in the park for a ride. Early in the morning. Wearing clothing of any color but black.
She was a cruel and twisted woman.
Yet, he hadn’t balked. This was important to her and he would see it through, no matter the awkwardness with her father. And it had been dashed awkward.
The two men could barely tolerate one another. They hadn’t made eye contact at all and only a handful of words had been spoken. That Duncan even agreed was a damn miracle.
“How did she get you to participate in this farce?” Clay asked, too curious to not raise the question.
“She didn’t. I refused, but my wife convinced me. Something about young women looking up to their fathers and how forgiveness sets a good example.”
Clay couldn’t help it. He snickered. “Those females run roughshod over you.”
“I suppose they do, but I love them all fiercely. Which brings me to another reason I’m here. If you ever hurt one hair on Florence’s head, I will bury you where they’ll never find the pieces.”
“That is absurd. I’d never hurt her.”
“See that you don’t. Because I will be wa
tching, Madden. The fact that you’ve given up your casino is one of the only reasons I am willing to tolerate your presence in her life.”
“And the fact that you are searching for the East Seventh Street families to make proper restitution is the only reason I am willing to tolerate you.”
“As I told you, I thought they would receive fair market value. I had no idea the man who handled the transaction was stealing from me.”
Clay grunted and kept quiet. He wasn’t here to make polite conversation. The ride was almost done and he preferred less interaction with Duncan, not more. The park had been mostly empty at this time of morning. Thank Christ. This was bad enough without adding the stares and whispers of the city’s snobbish elite on top of it.
They rode in silence for the rest of the journey. When they arrived at the entrance to the park, a familiar blond beauty awaited. His heart lurched in his chest as if the organ was attempting to get to her first.
“I see you both survived,” she said, her wary gaze bouncing between the two men on horseback.
“Indeed, we have.” Duncan kept going, still not bothering to look at Clay. “I expect you to follow shortly, Florence.”
“I will, Daddy. Thank you for today.”
“Let’s hope you remain grateful. Do not forget what I said, Madden.”
Clay stopped the horse, slid off the saddle and dropped to the ground. Taking the reins, he led the beast to where she stood. Her eyes never left his face.
“Was it awful?”
The twinkle in her hazel depths gave her away. “You knew it would be, which was why you suggested it.”
Her lips twitched as if she were fighting a grin. They began slowly walking toward the exit. “You look dashing in your green coat.”
It had been the only coat he owned that was not black. “Perhaps I’ll order a new wardrobe of bright colors.”
“Purple?”
“If you wish it.” And he meant it. He’d dress as a proper English dandy if it meant keeping her.
“I cannot believe you actually agreed to do this. You took a morning ride in the park. With my father, no less.”
“I would do anything for you. Anything.”
“I do not doubt it. Not after this morning.”
“Does this mean I passed your test?”
Her brows dipped together, as if she regretted what she’d asked of him. “I had to be certain, Clay. Too much was at risk to decide impulsively.”
He stopped and faced her. She was close enough to touch but he didn’t dare. Not yet. “Do not apologize. Any amount of humiliation or agony is worth another chance with you.”
“Just promise to always be honest with me.”
His skin tingled with anticipation as he placed a hand over his heart. “I swear on my life I’ll never hide anything from you again. Not ever. I love you and I’ll spend every day making you the happiest woman in Manhattan.”
She stepped closer, into his space, and his body went rigid, waiting. Hoping. Anyone passing by would be scandalized by the impropriety. He didn’t give a damn.
Her teeth briefly sank into her bottom lip. “I love you, as well. And I’ll spend every day making you the happiest man.”
Relief flooded him, his big body nearly trembling as he cupped her cheek. “Just stay by my side. Nothing could ever make me happier.”
“For a man of few words, you certainly know how to use them to your advantage.”
“I speak only the truth. And you should know, I will never let you go. You’re mine.” He bent to kiss her forehead. “I don’t believe in luck, but fortune was smiling down on me the night you first walked into my club.”
“We were both fortunate.”
He took her arm and began leading her toward the street. “How could I ever argue with that?” He could see why the Greene women always got what they wanted. He was truly besotted and would deny her absolutely nothing.
“You cannot.” She reached behind him and playfully slapped his bottom—in broad daylight. “So don’t even try.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
La Maison d’Argent
Eighteenth Street and Seventh Avenue
1894
The laughter never failed to make Florence smile.
She stood on the balcony, grinning, overlooking the casino floor, where scads of women were drinking, gaming and laughing with one another.
It was everything she’d ever dreamed.
One year ago they’d opened the doors and La Maison d’Argent, or the Silver House, had been an instant success. The name was a nod to the Bronze House, of course, except as Florence had told Clay, “Silver is more valuable than bronze.”
Currently, La Maison had seventy-five members, all women, ranging in age and backgrounds. The club was so popular that she’d been able to pay her grandmother back after the first eight months. Now it was entirely hers.
While her parents didn’t approve, they didn’t actively disapprove, either. Mostly they acted as if La Maison didn’t exist. That suited Florence perfectly. She lived on the top floor with Clay, which her parents did actively disapprove of, but she had no intention of marrying. Besides, neither she nor Clay had any use for society whatsoever. Occasionally, she’d encounter one of her parents’ friends, who snubbed her, or moral crusaders would picket outside the club, but happiness was the best revenge against people such as that.
And she was happy. Deliriously so.
Her sisters and grandmother had all joined the club, as had many of Florence’s old acquaintances. Indeed, as word spread, she’d been forced to turn women away. For a few more years membership would remain fairly small. The exclusivity would help elevate the club’s status in the city, and Florence was still learning how to manage her fiefdom.
Thank goodness she had an excellent teacher.
Clay had given the Bronze House to Jack, who’d continued to build on their empire. Clay still oversaw a few minor gaming properties but had recently decided to invest in baseball. A team was being brought in to play in the city and Clay had joined as one of the owners. His keen financial sense and intuition about leisure activities made this a natural fit for him, and she was glad to see him so passionate over a project once again.
A partner in all things, he’d supported her every step of the way with La Maison, guiding but leaving the decisions up to her. He didn’t interfere and only offered opinions when asked. She was incredibly lucky to have him in her life as a lover and friend.
A group of women squealed with delight at the roulette wheel. They were celebrating a birthday together, something that happened with regularity at La Maison, and the mood was festive. Which meant lighter pockets upon their exit. Florence nearly rubbed her hands together.
“Florence.”
She glanced up to find her assistant, Pippa, approaching. A second cousin of Jack’s, Pippa had been working in the Bronze House until Florence lured her away to come work at La Maison. Pippa was sharp and efficient, exactly what Florence needed. “Yes, Pippa?”
“Mr. Madden has asked that you meet him in the office.” Her mouth twitched and Florence wondered over Pippa’s reaction. The girl was normally quite serious.
“Now?”
“Yes. He said to tell you to take one night off and that if you argued he would come out and get you.”
Florence bit her lip to keep from chuckling. Clay was not allowed anywhere in the casino while it was open. No men, ever. Florence couldn’t make an exception for Clay, even if she loved him beyond reason. “He wouldn’t dare.”
“I don’t know,” Pippa said. “He seemed quite determined.”
“I hadn’t realized he would be home tonight.” There had been a dinner meeting regarding the new baseball team. Was he done already?
“He was considerably anxious. I think he’s fixing to surprise you.”
“Oh.” A surprise? Warmth slid low in her belly, deep in her core, as she contemplated all the ways Clay had surprised her over the past few years. He was creative wh
en the mood struck. “I suppose I best go, then. Will you see that—?”
“The birthday group receives a complimentary bottle of champagne. I know.” Pippa began pushing Florence toward the back corridor. “I’ll take care of it.”
“I have no doubt. Thank you, Pippa, for everything. This past year wouldn’t have been possible without you here.”
“This is the best job I ever could have imagined,” Pippa said. “No men anywhere around? It’s absolute heaven.”
“It is nice, isn’t it?” All the dealers, servers, bartenders and attendants were women, even the guards at the front door. Clay didn’t like it; he maintained she needed big, intimidating men at the doors in case there was trouble. So far the only trouble had been from suppliers thinking women were too stupid to add properly. “Come find me if there are any issues.”
“There won’t be. See you tomorrow.” Pippa waved before Florence disappeared around the corner.
The office wasn’t far. La Maison had less square footage than the Bronze House, but every inch of it was elegant. Where Clay had scrimped on the personal side of his casino, Florence had given Eva Mansfield liberty to design each and every bit as she’d wished. The architect had outdone herself. The rooms had all been crafted with women in mind, from the three women’s lounges, each with four water closets, to the tasteful artwork and crystal chandeliers.
Above all, Florence had wished for La Maison to be a relaxing and pleasant gathering space for women. The club was light and airy, with comfortable seats. A tearoom served repast and beverages all day long and well into the night. The casino allowed for gaming and cards, and there were bedrooms available for those who needed a place to stay. And the crowds proved that her idea had been a good one.
She turned the latch on her office door and entered. The room was dark except for a row of lit candles on the mantel and several more candles on her desk, which had been turned into a dining table. Clay stood by the desk, his hands thrust into his trouser pockets. She shut the door behind her. “What’s this?”